"Wait, place and thing? What thing?"
Gilmork glances up at Lucanor as he mentions it's also a thing.
"I don't remember it being a thing as well. Could you explain it to us please Lucanor?"
Lucanor is surprised, while educated, he'd never thought of himself as a man of education per se.
"My apologies... way I hear tell it, Isandrea's Basin is also a thing, a washing bowl of sorts. Isandrea was a nymph with a strong hate for humans I guess, she made it to corrupt items with which to sicken humans, but so strong was her hate that it item was cursed by it and the plague could make the fae sick as well. Sounds to me that is probably what the cultists are using. Truthfully? I always thought it was more of a moral parable about the dangers of holding too much hate for an enemy, but it seems it wasn't a metaphor. Wish it had come to me sooner."
"Sounds like that thing needs to be destroyed. I reckon the fae would appreciate that."
"Anyway, which is it? Do we wander around searching for the fey court, or do we stumble blindly into a cultist gathering? I've made my preference known, but I'll go wherever the group consensus takes us."
"I'm with Michael on this. Safety first, rushing in blindly is one of the ways to get you killed.
Perhaps the fey know where the cursed item is and point us in the right direction. Destroy the thing and it could hamper the cult's plans. Any wandering cultists underway we can deal with."
"Fine, but we need to find out where the fey court is exactly. I don't know, I was only approached by a fey called Drunella to help you guys out, I wasn't invited to the court. I do have a lot of acquaintances among them though."
"Let's see if Gilmork can get in contact with this Drunella... or if we can find that poor sick satyr from earlier...if either can help us find out how to get in contact with the court, we do it. Otherwise? We may not have a choice but to 'go in blind'. Too many delays aren't something I'm sure the town can afford."
As the party discusses their next move among the burning grove a figure steps out of the treeline nearby. It looks like this the creature clears its throat and presents itself
My name is Doren, you saved my brother Duren yesterday when you gave him the cure to the Palepox. Something evil, even worse than the foul treecutters, has come to this Vale....I have come to help you destroy it.
Lucanor will let the others chat, but eyes the fellow
The Satyr carries no weapons, save a club and set of pipes hooked to a belt.
He looks to the others, "I think we should trust him."
"You seem to be a good judge of character Lucanor, I'll believe his story then as well."
Gilmork walks over to Doren and looks him up and down without moving his head, he then extends a hand.
"Well met Doren. What is this new trouble you speak of? Anything to do with Isandrea's Basin?"
Gilmork's speech problem is quickly becoming apparent, though the sentences are short, he takes longer to say them.
"And we're intent on destroying it. We just don't really know what 'it' is aside from a bunch of Urgathoan cultists and some nebulous magic poison bowl or something. There's supposed to be a big cultist party tonight, but we don't know how many are going to be there and charging headlong into my possible death isn't really an activity that I find pleasurable."
The satyr hangs his head a bit Now you know our shame....Isandrea was a beautiful creature. She...succumbed to bloodlust and made an object so cursed that no fey has approached her Basin for almost 80 years. Her Basin is where her tree once stood...and it is also where the font was carved..from her own tree. I may not approach such a place without fear of succumbing to the same madness that overtook her.
He turns to the forest behind him and makes several calls, animal sounding in nature
I know one who may have the information you seek.
A tiny blue fey zooms into view, he moves so fast its hard to keep up with him, he is almost a blur. The satyr introduces him This is Pym Grigg, a quickling friend of mine, he has been following you for a while now.
The little creature speaks in very fast unpuncuated common.
yesyesyessawyousawyousawyouididgoesfastdoespymwhaddyawannaknow?
"Everything. Anything you can tell us that you think would help. What the Basin is, where it is, what it does, how to destroy it. If you know about the party the cultists are having, then do you know how many are going to be there? Is there anyone in particular that we should watch out for?"
"Well, hopefully more and more fae are realizing we're not their enemies judging by this at least," Lucanor says to the others
"No arguements there. Actions prove more than a promise."
Pym smiles at the rapidfire questions and takes a deep breath.
thebasinisaplaceit'swherethedryadisandreausedtolivebutthatisbeforemytimeher equicklingsdontstayinoneplaceverylongbecausewemovesofastidontknowwhatthebas indoesbecauseitscursedorsodruellatoldmeonetimewhenweweredrinkingtogetherdid youknowthatilovewinedoyouhavesomeblackberrywinenevermindbacktothebasinidont knowifitcanbedestroyedthatismoreofasyntiraquestionbutthegreatladyhasntbeens eeninafortnightwhupsshouldnthavetoldyouthatprobablywontnoticeanywaysbecause imsofastdidyounoticehowfastiamfasterthanyouhahahaiwatchedthenastycultistsgo ingtoandfromthebasintheplacenottheitemiwontgoneartheitemandtherewasntmoreth anadozenorsoremindsmeofthetimeiateonedozenpurplecappedmushroomwasfunfordays getithahahathecultistleaderisanastywomancalledvondrellaheardthemcallherthat buttheyneversawmeknowwhyitsbecauseimsofast
The little fairy stops and begins pacing, at least to him its pacing to you its being a little less blurry.
With his head spinning, Silas tells Hecktor, "Uh wow, and some say I talk too much! Anyway did I hear that right, a dozen guards? Doesn't sound that bad, although preferably not all at once!"
Gilmork nods in agreement to Silas.
"If we could split them up or give them a distraction to deal with, we might take out around half of them before the other half returns."
"I couldn't follow everything Pym just said to us, but I could hear the names of Isandrea, Druella and Vondrella, known names to us, but Syntira is a new name to me. If she has gone missing, she might be a captive as well of those cultists."
Though very fast...Hecktor carefully listens to what the litte guy has to say.
"No Silas, you don't speak too much."
With the few others likely having their ears still ringing in an aftermath, he dryly says:
"What the little guy said was, i'm quoting here:
The basin is a place. It's where the dryad Isandrea used to live, but that is before my time here.
Quicklings don't stay in one place very long because we move so fast i don't know what the basin does, because it's cursed, or so Druella told me one time when we were drinking together.
Did you know that i love wine, do you have some blackberry wine? Nevermind, back to the basin. I don't know if it can be destroyed, that is more of a Syntira question, but the great lady hasn't been seen in a fortnight.
Whups, shouldn't have told you that, probably won't notice anyways because i'm so fast. Did you notice how fast i am? Faster than you, hahaha.
I watched the nasty cultists going to and from the basin. The place, not the item, i won't go near the item and there wasn't more than a dozen or so.
Reminds me of the time i ate one dozen purple-capped mushrooms, was fun for days. Get it? Hahaha, the cultist leader is a nasty woman called Vondrella. Heard them call her that, but they never saw me, know why? It's because i'm so fast."
"What? I've heard diplomates, barwomen, old women gossiping....can't expect me not to recognize some form of hyperactive gabby-ness."
The two fey stand in the clearing, well Doren stands, Pym kinda blurs around. Doren finally clears his throat Ah, I believe I can explain what Pym said in...easier terms. He stops for a moment and then continues We fey cannot enter Isandrea's old grove, whatever magic created the Basin, corrupted it so foul that it inflicts us with bloodlust and now plague. Pym counted no more than a dozen cultists going to and from the Basin. How many have you slain?
"A dozen, huh? Well, counting these ones here, I'd say we've killed around 10 or so. But they seem to appear like termites crawling out of the woodwork. You think you've got them beat, and more show up. I wouldn't be surprised if that dozen he saw were ones that we haven't dealt with at all yet. But as long as we don't get ourselves surrounded, I think we could probably take a dozen in a fight..."
"Though preferably half a dozen to be safe..." Hecktor adds casually. "Nothing wrong with getting your hands dirty working hard, but overdoing yourself is burdening yourself needlessly."
Doren shrugs at Michael Something has drawn the followers of Lady Death here to this Vale. It cannot be coincidence that so many have come...the Basin has stood unmolested for almost 40 years.
Pym interjects, running around in circles iknowiknowiknowitsthecoldrideryepyepyepibetthatiswhoitisirememberonetimedru ellaandiweredrinkingwineandshesaidthecoldriderleftbutwillreturn.
Doren narrows his eyes at the tiny Quickling and says Nonsense, those are tales told to young fey who know nothing.
"Cold rider, dark cold, cold dark, dark rider, Drazmorg... I'm really getting sick of this guy. Seriously." Michael says as he throws his arms up in the air in exasperation.
"I guess we've got just about no choice but to head to Basin and take him out, otherwise people are just going to keep crapping their pants over him."
"That seems to be the case. We'll go check it out. See how many people there are still left and make up a plan there."
Gilmork shoulders his bow and looks to the others, then turns to Doren.
"Doren? If you see Druella, give her my regards. Things are shaping up for now. This group seems quite capable."
"Looks like our course is set then," Lucanor says as he blinks slightly. The quickling's chatter makes his head hurt.
Doren and Pym Grigg agree to take you close to the former Grove. It takes a few hours and its close to dark before Doren stops the party and says This is as far as I go...I feel the wrongness of her grove. It is only a little bit further north of here.
Michael curses as the sun begins to set. "Damnit, it's getting dark. I don't want to light a torch, but at the same time, I can't see in the dark. I don't think any of us can, unless Gilmork is able to. We'd better get going. Last time we were out here at night it wasn't what I'd call fun."
"Wish I could, but I can still see fine in this light Michael. I also carry a special torch that grants the light of the moon to light our way, perhaps we can use that to be more inconspicuous when we approach."
Gilmork grins behind his mask.
"You humans have such poor vision." He adds on a playful tone.
.
"You humans have such poor vision." He adds on a playful tone.
"Price we pay for our natural good looks," Lucanor chuckles low, as he is hardly an adonis.
Hecktor got a wide grin on his face after Lucanor's words.
"My natural looks are not something to scoff at either Lucanor." Gilmork adds in a mysterious mumble.
"Yea, yea, let's get moving before it gets any darker. No need to make this any harder than it has to be."
"Gilmork, do you think you could scout ahead a little and hopefully we won't blunder into a guard post unaware... When the time comes I'll summon a light. Perhaps that gives me an idea, I know a few tricks for summoning lights and sounds. Using this we could make a disturbance and hope some guards investigate..."
"I can try, I have been skulking in these lands for quite a while already. Most men didn't ntoice me following them, so I'll give it a shot."
Gilmork tries to skulk off into the dim-lit wilderness, his knowledge of the woods serving him to watch out for branches and avoid making too much noise as he inches forward to Isandrea's Basin.
Gilmork you move quietly and quickly through the undergrowth for about 10 minutes until you hear the sounds of revelry.
A low melodic droning carries through the still air,
interrupted by random screams of pain and pleasure. Ahead
lies a clearing surrounded by low-hanging willow trees.
In the center of the clearing rests a long, bone banquet
table covered in mounds of bright red, orange, and yellow
flower petals, human skull goblets dripping with wine, and
alabaster platters filled with raw meat. In the center of the
table rests a water-filled basin made of carved
birch, from the center of which rises the wooden
sculpture of a nude woman pouring water from
a jar.
You see six figures in the clearing surrounding the feast table.
Gilmork looks intrigued at the ritual, then he notices the unliving creature standing besides the feast table.
As much as we could expect I think. Isandrea was busy with forbidden magic, no wonder if she would have necromancers as followers as well. I wonder if that water basin is the item we were told about.
Having had a clear view of the revel for now, Gilmork crouches around the edges of the camp, then makes a beeline and comes back to find the others.
"I could count six figures standing along a feast table, one of which was definitely an undead creature. There was a wooden basin on the table, with a woman-shaped figurine in the middle. Does that sound like Isandrea's basin?"
Gilmork looks at the others one by one.
"I think they also have more of those Flamebloom flowers there, at least from the distance they had the same sort of colour. We should be careful in our approach of that table."
"I'd say that's probably the basin. I'd also say that the dead guy is probably our Drazmorg or whoever. At the very least I'd say they have a hand in it."
"Sure sounds like it to me. How big is this basin? Is it going to be hard for one person to carry?"